A Postmortem Tribute
by SeouLee
Summary: A short interpretation of Death Note Episode 25


_Written 04/24/17 for a class. Some of the dialogue and events may not be a 100% accurate representation of Episode 25._

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He hears the bells ringing. They are ringing. The church bells are ringing. Steadily, softly, he trudges up the stairs alone, the steps spiraling endlessly above him. Each passing moment only feeds the dread that festers in the pit of his stomach. The dread. The foreboding atmosphere. The sense of defeat and utter helplessness. The detective's usual countenance, free of worries, is replaced by one devoid of hope. The seconds are ticking and the bells are ringing.

As he nears the top of the stairs, he hears the muffled pitter-patter of the rain. There waits a door before him. Removing his hand from the shelter of his pocket, he gingerly wraps his fingers around the doorknob and emerges on the roof of the taskforce headquarters. The rain is heavy and the bells are still ringing.

It comes down in thick sheets, hammering against the slate-gray tiles of the roof and pelting the man's pale skin. Hunched over, barefoot, he nevertheless steps forth into the icy shower, embracing the stinging catharsis of the rain and all the while hearing the ringing of the bells.

An indefinite span of time passes before the man receives company. He is gazing listlessly at the city streets—hundreds of feet below him—when his ears just barely perceive the sound of a voice. Turning, his eyes straining against the curtain of rain, he makes out the form of another man—no, a boy: the straight-backed, impenetrable university student, the man's partner in the investigation.

His partner is yelling something at him. A question, maybe. The barefoot, ebony-haired man places a hand against his ear in an attempt to listen. Despite the student's efforts to repeat his question, however, the rain ravenously swallows up his voice. Smiling slightly at his partner's struggle, the man waits for the boy who—after giving up his endeavor to make himself heard—reluctantly resigns himself to the unforgiving storm.

"What are you doing out here?" the boy asks once he reaches the man. The detective, a perpetual insomniac, fixes his dark, weary eyes on his partner—the one whom he suspected during the entire investigation, the one whom he befriended only for the possibility of gleaning information from him, the one whom he finally decided could not be the culprit behind the unsolved murder cases—and feels a degree of penitence for his actions.

"Well, nothing in particular," the man answers with hesitation, "but…" He hears them ringing. "The sound of the bells," he murmurs distractedly, directing his attention to the soggy, cloud-filled sky.

"Bells?" prompts his partner. Under his hand, which shields his face from the precipitation, the boy's expression is one of perplexed wonder. The detective turns back to the boy.

"Yes," he replies. "The bells have been really noisy throughout the day." Once again, he focuses on the somber cloudscape before him, ignoring the needles of water that indiscriminately attack his eyes. The student, confused, looks around, failing to see (or hear) any bells.

"I haven't heard anything," he says, glancing dubiously at the detective who, puzzled by the boy's failure to hear the bells, claims that they have been ringing all day. The man supposes that they are church bells. A wedding, maybe. Or perhaps—

"What are you talking about?" his partner interrupts, irritation flooding his voice. "Don't say such silly things." A slight pause. "Let's go back." Feeling alone in his delusions (or whatever he is experiencing) the man apologizes, requesting of his partner to understand that everything he says is complete nonsense, and not to believe any of it. Yes, everything. The bells, of course, but also his suspicions of the boy. After all that has happened, how could the boy, his partner, his first friend, the only person in the world who shared the same mentality as him, how could he be the criminal?

They are inside, drying themselves from the rain, when the detective offers help to his partner. As atonement, he says, and he dries the boy's drenched feet with his own towel. Atonement for interrogating him and detaining him and psychologically dissecting him. Like the repentant woman who washed Christ's feet with her tears, wiping them with her hair, the man—filled with remorse—kneels and dries his partner's feet. He looks up.

"How sad," he muses, melancholy in both thought and demeanor.

"What?" the boy says, meeting the detective's gaze. The bells are ringing.

"We'll soon part," answers the detective with grim certainty. They are still ringing.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

He is right. He was right. He had been right all along. The entire time, his partner, his multifaceted friend, was "Kira," the one behind the chain of serial murders. Only, he realizes this fact too late. Betrayed by his failing heart, the man stares unblinkingly at his killer's expression: a triumphant smirk that morphs into a façade of concern at the sound of others' advancing footsteps. The bells are ringing. They are not wedding bells. The bells are ringing. Slowly, his eyes shut to the sound of funeral bells.

* * *

 _I really liked the bell motif in this episode (as you can see). If anyone has the time, I recommend reading Edgar Allan Poe's "The Bells." The rhythm_ in _that work is pretty trance-inducing._


End file.
